


take a look in the mirror and cry

by pbandwhey



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Crack, M/M, Mentions of fucking, Pining, ooc sid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-19
Packaged: 2019-02-04 04:44:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12763434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pbandwhey/pseuds/pbandwhey
Summary: Sidney Crosby might have a penchant for dramatics.





	take a look in the mirror and cry

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a kind of parody in response to the Sidgeno Angstfest. I'm not making fun of anyone who participated; I'm just not big on angst and I wanted to write a joke fic. It's all out of character, so be warned.
> 
> Title from Queen's "Somebody To Love."

Sidney Crosby might have a penchant for dramatics.

On the ice, it’s all about competition, obviously. Nothing emotional at all. It’s not like the sight of Dubinsky’s face triggers a bone-deep desire to _punch._ Sid is, of course, a professional. A well-oiled, well-adjusted, dedicated hockey _machine._

Maybe he whines sometimes. Whatever. It’s part of the game.

But once the theatrics are off the ice, well. There aren’t many excuses. And there are only so many pints of soy, dairy-free chocolate ice cream that you can burn through in a night and pass off as hockey-related stress eating.

At least, Kris clearly thinks so.

“Sid.”

“What.”

“This is sad.” Kris moves to take the pint away. Sid cradles it to his chest protectively, probably smearing chocolate on his hoodie. He doesn’t care. He’s wallowing.

“For fuck’s sakes, Sid. You’re not allowed to nag the rest of us about our diets if you’re going to stay in eating ice cream all night.”

Sid turns the pint so the label faces Kris. “It’s _soy._ ”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, fuck off. Leave me alone. Go home to be with your perfect partner and your perfect kid that I’ll _never have_ ,” Sid says, voice cracking, “Because I’m _horrible_ and _ugly_.“

Kris sighs, heavy and put-upon. “You’re not horrible and ugly. You’re just stupid.” He sits down, taking the pint away. Sid lets him, because it’s empty, _like his heart._

“I can tell you’re monologuing. Stop it.” Kris puts the pint on the coffee table.

Sid sniffles, looking back at the onscreen couple. They’re fighting over coffee orders. It’s clearly a thinly-veiled metaphor for commitment. “Why can’t they just _talk_ to each other?”

“Wow.” Kris hits pause on the remote. “That’s literally the most hypocritical shit I’ve ever heard. _Listen_ to yourself. Why don’t you just talk to him? Tell him your stupid feelings. Get it out.”

Sid curls in on himself, pressing his forehead against his knees. “He’d hate me.”

“No he wouldn’t. Geno’s spent years kissing the ground you walk on.”

“No he hasn’t.”

“Yes he has.”

Sid burrows his face in further. “Whatever,” he mumbles. “He just likes my hockey.”

“He also likes the ass that comes with it, if that’s any help.” Kris narrowly dodges Sid’s half-hearted slap. “And even if he doesn’t, Sid, he isn’t gonna stop being your friend. Geno’s an asshole, but he’s a good guy. He’d be nice about it.”

Sid groans. “I don’t want him to be _nice_ about it. I want him to love me and have a million kids with me.” He decides he needs the ice cream again, grabbing it off the table to scoop up the stray melted ice cream with his index finger. “Which is never going to happen. He’s probably going to marry a supermodel and have a million kids with her.”

“Okay, I can see there’s no reasoning with you tonight.” Kris stands up. “Go to sleep and wash your face off at some point before midnight.” He ruffles Sid’s hair, which Sid begrudgingly allows. “Night.”

“Goodnight,” Sid mumbles. He waits until Kris is out of the door before getting up to get his third pint of the night from the freezer. There’s practice in the morning, he’ll work it off. It’s fine.

**

Sometimes, Sid really resents the casual nature of the post-practice shower.

Mostly, he doesn’t mind talking to his teammates while they’re naked. He’s used to it. But it’s a bit more difficult when the naked teammate in question is the same guy you were wallowing over the previous night. Sid still has the stomachache to remind him.

“So, I’m talk to woman at church, she’s say her cat has litter. Show me pictures. So _cute,_ Sid.”

Sid hums, focusing very intensely on the tiled wall and _not_ on Geno’s dick just a few feet away from him. He isn’t going to look. Not even a peek.

Sid jerks out of his thoughts a little when he realizes Geno’s trying to get his attention. He turns his head, keeping his eyes very firmly on Geno’s face. “Huh?”

Geno laughs. “You’re weird today, Sid. I’m ask twice, you want come over for lunch?”

“Oh! Oh. I, uh.” Sid runs through a million excuses in his head – _errands, other plans, nonexistent sick dog_ – but of course, what comes out of his mouth is, “Sure.”

“Good,” says Geno. He stretches, pulling his arms over his head and tilting his crotch forward and nope, Sid’s looking at the wall again. He very subtly cranks the water to freezing.

**

Sid’s no exception to the whole “the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach” thing. It borders on a problem, honestly. He’d known a teammate in juniors who liked to bake, and he’d brought in these _amazing_ cookies for the team around Christmastime, and, well. Sid had had to deal with an unfortunate crush after that.

So it isn’t any surprise that watching Geno flit around the kitchen is a mainline to the most pathetic part of his brain.

Sid knows he’s staring as Geno lifts a spoon to his mouth to taste-test the sauce he’s putting over their steaks. Geno catches him in the act and smirks. “Take picture, it’s last longer.”

“I’m just amazed you’re able to cook at all,” Sid tries to tease. The effect is probably lost by the way he can feel his face flushing red. If Geno notices, he graciously doesn’t mention it.

“Maybe I’m teach someday. Not stick to same five meals.”

Sid scoffs, indignant. “I can cook more than five things.”

Geno chuckles, turning back to their steaks in the cast-iron pan on the stove. “Different pasta not count."

Sid opens his mouth to protest, but then Geno flexes his massive hands and any coherent thought Sid had had completely flies out of his head. _Hands_ do it for him now. It’s so unfair.

Later, while they’re eating, not even the objectively disgusting sound of Geno loudly chewing steak turns him off.

**

Sid forgets to set his alarm that night, so he gets into next morning’s video review session about five minutes late. The team heckles him when he arrives, since he’s usually a few minutes early. Even Geno, who’s known for his perpetual tardiness, got there before him. The last empty seat is next to him, so Sid has to scowl at him when Geno mockingly clucks his tongue. Geno’d had his arm stretched over the empty seat when Sid arrived, and hasn’t moved it. It’d be annoying if Sid weren’t so far gone on him.

Geno leans over to whisper in his ear when Sullivan’s back is turned. “Why you’re so late?”

“Alarm didn’t go off,” Sid says, not shivering at all when he feels Geno’s breath ghost over his ear as Geno laughs at him.

Sullivan clears his throat pointedly from the front of the room, and Geno straightens back up. Sid doesn’t miss the proximity. He _doesn’t._

**

During a lull in practice, Sid is hanging around the net talking to Matt. Matt’s so focused during practice, so it’s hard to coax a grin out of him, but talking about dogs definitely does it.

Matt’s face lights up when Sid asks about his massive Newfoundland. Sid definitely gets it. Though he’s maybe a little concerned when Matt talks about picking him up. It’s a pretty heavy dog.

Geno skates by, bumping into Sid and pushing him back a foot. “Why you bother Muzz? He’s probably not want to talk to you.”

Matt laughs at that, the traitor. Sid narrows his eyes. “We’re talking about dogs. Why are you bothering us?”

“Bored. Why you’re not get dog, Sid?”

“We’re gone too long for me to get a dog on my own. I feel bad leaving pets alone in the house.”

Geno shrugs. “Get nanny.” He grins. “Or maybe you’re get dog with me, get nanny together. We co-parent. Miss Jeffery too much.”

The thought of parenting with Geno in any context makes Sid glad that his helmet hides some of his face. “How would co-owning a dog help any? We have the same schedule.”

“Helps kids if have two parents. Being single parent hard, Sid.”

Sid rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I’m not getting a dog with you.”

Geno pouts. “Hurt, Sid. Biological clock go down.”

“Oh, my god.”

“Need to follow mom instincts.”

“You don’t have mom instincts,” Sid says. “You’re a guy.”

Geno pats Sid’s shoulder. “Mom instincts not about guy or girl. Mom instincts about _feeling._ And who’s say I’m mom? Maybe you’re mom.”

“I’m not a _dog mom—“_

They’re interrupted by Sullivan blasting his whistle from the other side of the rink. Geno taps Sid’s shins with his stick. “We talk about later. I’m convince you. We be best parents, you see.”

 _Best parents._ Sid resists the urge to melt.

**

At this point, Kris probably has enough blackmail material to use against Sid to last a lifetime. Sid doesn’t care, mostly because he’s drunk on post-game victory shots.

“He said we’d be parents, Tanger. _Parents._ ”

Kris hums, clearly not really listening. Sid pokes him. “Hey. Listen to me.”

Kris rolls his eyes, finally looking over at him. “Weren’t you whining to me about how he’d never want kids with you a few nights ago? And every other week for the past decade?”

Sid tilts his head back to rest against the bench backing. “But he doesn’t want kids. He wants dogs.”

“Getting a dog together is a gateway to having kids.” Kris sips at his beer. “That said, you should probably sleep with him first.”

Sid whines. “God, I want to. Have you _seen_ his dick in the locker room? It’s so—“

Kris slaps his hand over Sid’s mouth before he can finish. “I really, really don’t want to hear this.”

“You brought it up,” Sid says, muffled against Kris’ palm.

Kris sighs, taking his hand away and tugging at Sid’s elbow. “C’mon. I’m gonna drive you home so you can sleep this off.”

Sid stumbles after him as he leaves the bar, looking wistfully over at Geno where he’s sat at the bar. sGeno glances over and catches his eye, smiling and wiggling his fingers in a little wave. Sid waves back, watching as Geno laughs in response – at his expense, no less. Sid wishes he weren’t out of soy ice cream.

Jacking off is an alright substitute.

**

Sometimes, Sid marvels at how young Olli is. For the most part, he’s the definition of an old soul. Granted, Sid’s seen him drunk enough to prove his youth, but typically he’s more serious than half of the older vets on the team.

Which is why it surprises Sid when Olli turns to him during team dinner and asks, “When are you gonna ask out Geno?”

Sid chokes on his salad, glancing around quickly to see if anyone else heard. Luckily, they’re at the end of the table and no one else is paying attention to them. He glares at Olli. “Who’d you hear about that from?”

“Tanger.”

“ _Traitor,_ ” Sid hisses. He spears one of his cherry tomatoes more aggressively than necessary. Unfortunately, it slides out from under his fork and flies off the plate. Olli snorts at him as Sid curses under his breath.

This week sucks.

**

Sid’s at home watching the Devils play the Capitals when his cell phone rings. It’s Geno, and Sid waits a few rings to answer so he doesn’t seem like an overeager teenager. “Hello?”

“ _Sid. You busy?”_

“Uh, no. Why?”

“ _Just bored. Want talk.”_

Sid hums. “Well. I’m watching the Devils, if you want to turn that on.”

He hears Geno chuckle, sounding crackly over the phone. “ _Turning things on good way to not be bored.”_

Sid flushes red. “Oh my god. That’s terrible.”

Geno just laughs again. Then, “ _I’m drink with Tanger tonight. He chatty when he’s drink.”_

“Tell me about it,” Sid says. “He say anything interesting?”

“ _Well.”_ Geno pauses. “ _He’s talk a little about last time he’s over at your house.”_

Sid’s heart fucking _stops._

“I, um, he,” he stammers, “What – what did he tell you?”

Geno doesn’t respond for a few moments. Sid holds his breath.

“ _Have to go, Sid. See you tomorrow.”_ He hangs up before Sid can formulate his response.

Sid is close to hyperventilating. Geno knows. Geno definitely knows, because Kris is a stupid bigmouthed _asshole,_ and God, Sid wants to fucking _cry_. There’s no way their friendship’s gonna be the same, now. At best, it’ll be awkward. At worst, Geno punches him and asks for a trade. Honestly, Sid isn’t sure which one he’d prefer.

He tries to distract himself with the Devils game, but eventually he just turns it off. His phone is sitting on the couch next to him, taunting him. Of course Geno was going to find out; Sid’s too obvious with his feelings. Fuck, it’s amazing it took this long. But it’s still devastating. Sid takes a few deep breaths. Fretting over it now won’t help anything, but he can’t help it.

Sid doesn’t get much sleep that night. Kris doesn’t reply to any of the angry texts Sid sends him.

**

Sid gets to the rink early for practice so that he doesn’t have to see Geno in the locker room.

When Kris gets to the ice, he skates over to Sid right away. “Sid, I’m sorry, but—“

“Shut up,” Sid snaps, surprising himself with how sharp it is. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Okay, fine, but just listen for a second—“

Sid skates away before Kris can finish. He feels himself tearing up a little, and he doesn’t want that. He just wants to concentrate on hockey and ignore anything to do with emotions or feelings or Geno. Kris doesn’t try to talk to him again, but he does shoot him a look once Geno skates on.

Geno doesn’t try to approach Sid for most of practice, save for when they’re doing power play drills, but when Sullivan calls for the end of practice, Geno puts a hand on Sid’s shoulder before he can escape.

“Sid, I’m—“

“Good job on drills today!” Sid squeaks, desperate to not have this conversation. “Great, great practice, Geno, I’ll see you later—“

“Sid.”

“—Or, not later, obviously, we don’t have a game tonight, but y’know, I’ll see you tomorrow—“

“ _Sid.”_

“—Because we have a game tomorrow, so, I’ll see you, and—“ Sid peters off, then, because Geno’s taking off his gloves and dropping them on the ice.

Sid starts panicking. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, I know Kris told you, please don’t hit me,” Sid pleads. “We can just forget about the whole thing. It’s fine. I won’t do anything, I swear.” They’ve drawn an audience, now, half of the team circled around them and watching Sid have a meltdown.

Geno just sighs. “Take off helmet.”

“What? I – okay, sure, if – don’t punch my head. You can punch anywhere else, if you want.”

“Not punching your head.”

Sid hesitates, then pulls his helmet off. Geno does the same, and Sid squeezes his eyes shut, braced for—whatever. A slap. Punch to the gut. He doesn’t know why Geno wants his helmet off, but he knows he just wants this done.

He isn’t expecting warm hands to cup his face, and Sid’s eyes snap open just in time to see Geno lean down.

“Idiot,” Geno says.

Then he kisses him.

Sid’s too shocked to do anything but stand still. He can barely hear his teammates cheering over the thundering of his own heartbeat in his ears. It isn’t a chaste, short kiss, either; Geno really takes his time, lips moving slow but firm over Sid’s.

Geno pulls away, finally, and Sid’s still stuck standing there, eyes wide open.

Sid starts tearing up again.

“Sid? You crying?”

He leans forward and buries his face into Geno’s shoulder in lieu of giving a response. He can feel Geno’s rumbling laugh move through him, and his arm wraps around Sid’s waist, holding him close.

They stay like that long enough for the rest of the team to get bored, and Sid hears them all skate off, some offering congratulations as they pass.

When they’re alone again, Sid picks his head up off Geno’s chest. Geno beams down at him and kisses Sid’s forehead. “You okay now?”

Sid sniffles, but he beams back. “I’m just so _happy._ ”

Geno looks amused. “Can tell.” He tilts his head. “Maybe not cry next time I’m kiss you, though. Worry.”

Sid nods rapidly. Then – “Can next time be soon?”

“Next time be whenever you want, Sid.”

Sid bites his lip. “Can it be now?”

“Yes, but – maybe you’re want at home?” Geno grins, a little wicked. “No game tonight, like you say.”

It takes Sid a second to get what Geno’s offering, but when he does, he starts tugging at Geno’s jersey to lead them off the ice. “Yes. _Yes._ ”

**

After Geno’s dragged Sid home and fucked him into the mattress, Sid starts crying for the second time in as many hours.

“Sid, I’m hurt you? Sid!” Geno looks panicked, hovering over him.

Sid smiles, wiping his face. “No, I’m just. I’m so _lucky_.”

Geno groans, collapsing to the side. He moves up the bed to kiss the side of Sid’s neck, though, so he can’t be too upset. “So emotional. You’re always be like this?”

Sid rolls over to face him. “Maybe.”

“Needy.” Geno slings his arm over Sid’s waist and urges him to scoot closer. “Is fine. I’m have tissues.”

Sid can’t wait to use them.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry not sorry for the last scene lol


End file.
